


Going My Way

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demonic Possession, Fallen Castiel, Gen, Human Castiel, M/M, Minor Violence, Possessed Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A painfully human Castiel finally calls Dean, wanting to be reunited with his friend. But when Dean arrives, he isn't exactly himself. Season 9 speculative fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going My Way

Castiel had been waiting by the roadside for several hours, he estimated, based on the position of the sun above him. He was sitting on the prickly brown grass, the sun beating down on his too-hot skin, the motor-oil tainted dust clogging his throat. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had begun walking down this road to begin with, only that it had taken a while before he realized how lost he was. 

He squinted against the bright light as he heard a familiar rumble in the distance. The vibrations thrummed in his chest. _Finally_ , Castiel thought with relief, standing and trying futilely to dust himself off. On the phone, Dean had said he wasn’t far away. Of course that was after Castiel had worked up the courage to call. (His fingers had shaken as he pushed the buttons, hoping Dean’s number had not changed.) One hand patted his pocket where the phone lay now, worry stone and lifeline in one. 

The relief in Dean’s voice, even through the fuzzy filter of the telephone, was a balm to Castiel’s nerves. He had been terrified that Dean would not want to see him, would refuse to help him. The entire mess, after all, was his fault. The angels had fallen and Castiel had no one to blame but himself. But Dean had simply asked where he was before telling Castiel to wait there: he would come pick him up. 

“There” turned out to be a dusty stretch of road on the sun-baked plains of Kansas. Castiel was so thirsty. Feeling need like the thick burn of his throat was still unnervingly foreign to him.

The Impala cruised into view as she crested a hill, Dean’s silhouette dark in the driver’s seat. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, lending an unreal quality to the approaching car. But then Dean was drawing level with him, music washing over Castiel in a blast of cool air as Dean rolled down the passenger side window and leaned over the seat, grinning at Castiel.

“Hey, stranger, going my way?”

“Hello, Dean.” His voice was scratchy, thick, even as a small smile crept onto his face. Dean popped the handle on the passenger door with a grin and Castiel pulled it open, sliding into the car’s blessedly cool interior. “Do you have anything to drink?” His body relaxed into the leather seat, a wave of happiness humming through him at being reunited with Dean. 

“Uh, just this,” Dean answered, proffering a small flask as he began to drive again. Castiel took a small sip, the burning liquid doing nothing to quench his thirst. He grimaced. “Sorry. We’ll get you something next place we pass, okay?” Castiel nodded. Dean was exceedingly cheerful, he thought, considering the circumstances. Really he was being far too cheerful, somehow _too_ Dean, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he piloted his car along the asphalt. 

“How is Sam?” Castiel asked, his head throbbing. Distantly, he recalled that alcohol was not a good choice when one was dehydrated. He hoped they found a service station soon.

“Sammy? Sam’s fine.” Dean’s tone was nonchalant as he glanced in the rearview mirror, as if Castiel had no reason to ask after Sam’s health. Considering Sam was about to die the last time Castiel heard anything about him, this was very strange. He frowned, tilting his aching head slightly to the side as he peered at Dean.

“And how are you?” Castiel asked, his voice deep with suspicion, watching Dean closely. Dean turned his head, taking his eyes off the road as a grin spread wide across his face.

“Oh, I’m just peachy, Cas.” Dean’s eyes flashed black as he spoke. Castiel noticed, suddenly, the rusty streak on Dean’s tee shirt over his left pectoral, nearly hidden by his customary layers. He scrambled for the door handle as Dean reached for the locks and slammed down the accelerator. Dean won their little race, and Castiel’s fingers scrabbled at the receded locking pin. “Aw, not so fast, angel, we’re just getting started.” Castiel’s skin crawled at the way Dean – no, the way the _demon_ dragged over the word angel. The demon leered at Castiel, its darkness hidden again behind Dean’s green eyes.

Castiel felt disgusted with himself: a week ago, he had been able to see the true face of a demon. He should have seen that Dean was possessed instantly. But Dean’s face still looked like Dean to him, aside from the lecherous way it was grinning at Castiel. 

“I don’t suppose you would be so kind as to explain your evil plan to me,” Castiel deadpanned. The words felt thick in his mouth, his head swimming.

“We’re going for a ride, sweetheart.” The demon kept raking up and down Castiel’s body with Dean’s eyes. “Dean-o here is pretty happy to see you again, Castiel. It’s a little gross, actually.” The demon smirked. Castiel glared at it, rage seething at the thing that had the impudence to invade Dean in this manner. 

“Do I know you?” he asked. The demon laughed.

“No, but I know you well enough.” Its eyes turned coal black again, and this time they stayed that way.

* * *

Dean cringed as he saw self-loathing light up Castiel’s features. 

<<Enjoying the show, Dean-o?>> the demon crooned. In his mind, the demon’s voice was female-sounding, low and slick.

<<Fuck you,>> he gritted out, the words strangely hollow when they had no connection to his physical throat. The demon laughed, a ringing vibration of his skull that made him pull even more into himself. 

<<Oh, sweetheart,>> the demon said, its voice taking on a syrupy timbre, <<it isn’t me you want to fuck. I’ve got front row seats to your most private desires, here, Dean. Maybe I ought to share with the class.>> Dean thrashed at that, trying to battle the demon inside his head, but it pressed on him like a physical weight and forced his eyes to drag slowly over Castiel’s form in the seat beside him. 

Dean wondered how anyone had ever managed to overcome possession as he struggled against the demon. The son of a bitch was goddamned _strong_.  <<Oh, what, too emotionally constipated to tell Castiel how you really feel?>> The demon tsk’ed at him. <<That’s no foundation for a healthy relationship, Dean. But then healthy isn’t exactly your style, is it?>> The demon dredged through Dean’s memories, pulling the worst of the worst from their deeply repressed recesses and shoving them in front of Dean. It laughed again as he cringed. 

Distantly, Dean could hear Castiel asking the demon what the plan was. Of course, Castiel knew he wasn’t going to get an answer. Dean could have kissed Castiel just for his brilliance in asking, though, because asking the question meant the demon thought about the plan. Dean only got a brief flash, since the demon was working hard to hide it from him, but what he saw was enough to make him thrash again. <<NO,>> he shouted, as the demon pressed down on him again. <<I won’t let you kill him, you son of a bitch!>>

<<Sweetheart, you don’t have a choice,>> the demon crowed. <<It’s open season on angels, and there’s a bounty the size of your daddy issues on his head.>> It pictured Dean’s hand, stabbing a knife into Castiel’s chest. It layered the image over Dean’s memory ( _a barn in Illinois_ ), but this time Castiel screamed and bled. Dean shuddered as he began to understand how Bobby had overcome a demon. There were things that Dean would die before doing, and that was on the list. 

<<Never gonna happen,>> he snarled. He needed a plan, he needed something, some way to tip the demon off balance to give Castiel an opening to escape. 

<<You know I can hear everything,>> the demon whispered. <<This won’t even be hard.>> It raked Dean’s eyes over Castiel again, as Castiel’s head drooped and swayed. The demon gloated over the cursed whiskey it had dosed him with as Dean seethed. 

* * *

The demon pulled off the highway a few minutes later, rolling down a dirt road towards a rusty warehouse. Castiel hadn’t managed to get the demon to talk (or to stop staring at him). His head felt thicker and thicker as the minutes ticked by. He struggled to form a plan. He struggled to form sentences, by the time they stopped outside the warehouse, so he wasn’t certain what he expected to find inside. The demon hauled him from the car, half supporting him as he stumbled towards the warehouse. Dean was warm where he touched Castiel, and Castiel struggled to remember that it was not Dean pressed against his side, Dean's but not-Dean's arm around him. His body sang with adrenaline, nearly enough to drown out his pounding headache but doing nothing for his floating brain. 

It turned out, however, that the demon didn’t know what was waiting for them either. Five steps inside the room, Dean’s body jolted as if he had walked into a glass wall. 

Castiel frowned, looking around for the devil’s trap he was certain had been laid here.  If he were still an angel, he would have sensed it by now. The demon released his grip on Castiel and he staggered a few steps further inside. If the room would stop spinning for a minute, maybe he could find the trap. 

The demon growled, a low rumble in Dean’s throat, as the ceiling above them creaked, and there it was: painted over their heads. The room swayed as he stood there, trying to figure out what he ought to do.

A voice began chanting in Latin, and Dean’s body jerked again, the ceiling emitting another groan. The chanting continued as Garth stepped into view, sparing a little wave towards Castiel as he continued the exorcism. Black smoke had begun to seep out of Dean’s mouth, even as the ceiling shuddered again. A fine web of cracks appeared, creating tiny fissures in the outer circle of the devil’s trap. Still, Garth chanted, the demon twisting Dean’s features into a look of shock as it poured out of his mouth and smoldered into the ground around his feet as Garth completed the exorcism.

Dean collapsed to his knees as soon as the demon was gone, coughing and spitting. “Garth,” he choked out, “how the…” Castiel realized vaguely that Dean was wondering how Garth had managed to trap the demon even after it broke the devil’s trap. The ceiling was riddled with cracks, the ward destroyed.

“Hey Dean, hey Cas.” Garth approached and gestured for Dean to move. Castiel was still staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out why it seemed to be rolling. Dean grabbed his elbow, steadying him. Castiel let himself lean into Dean’s warmth, a dull joy filling him when he realized that this was actually Dean, now, and not the demon. 

Dean had been standing on a filthy sheet of plywood, barely noticeable among the detritus on the warehouse floor. Garth lifted the corner, showing them the devil’s trap painted on the underside. “The ceiling was a decoy. Always good to have insurance.” He smiled, and Dean just nodded at him before coughing again. Castiel watched Dean’s face as Garth continued his explanation unprompted. “Kevin called, said that there was probably something wrong with you. I was closest by, already tracking this warehouse as a hotspot for demonic omens.” Garth shoved his hands into his pockets and walked towards the exit as he spoke; Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s back to support his swaying friend as they followed Garth mutely, each at war with their own minds. 

The ceiling had started to flake and rain down small chunks of concrete; Castiel thought of the plastic snow globe he once saw in a bus station newsstand. “Between that and tracking your cell phone’s GPS, it didn’t take much guesswork to figure out what was happening. And Kevin’s demon bombs are _da bomb_ ,” Garth finished, grinning. “Well, I’m needed elsewhere. I parked around back. See you two later!” Garth waved.

“Hey, Garth,” Dean called after him, and Garth turned. “Uh, thanks. For, you know. Saving us.” Garth grinned and pointed a finger at Dean.

“You owe me one now, Winchester! You too, Castiel. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Garth turned again, humming to himself as he disappeared around the corner of the building. Castiel’s head was reeling as he frowned at the spot Garth had just been standing.

Dean guided Castiel over to the Impala, making sure Castiel had braced a hand on her before digging around in the trunk. He pulled out a jug of water with a rosary floating inside and took several long swallows. “Ugh,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s warm, and it’s holy, but it’s water.” He passed the jug to Castiel, watching closely until Castiel took several long swallows of his own, the water sweet on his parched tongue. He swayed a little again, and Dean guided him to sit on the Impala’s bumper. “How are you feeling?” he asked, placing a warm hand on Castiel's shoulder. “I’m not quite sure what it did to the hooch in that flask, but the demon was counting on it to put a whammy on you.”

“I have definitely been whammied,” Castiel nodded, taking another drink of water as Dean encouraged him. “But this seems to be helping.”

“Yeah, well, that son of a bitch wasn’t very sharp.” Dean barked a laugh. “I’m pretty sure it just cursed some whiskey. Beginner's stuff. The holy water ought to dilute it enough that you’ll feel alright until it wears off in a few hours.” Castiel nodded, feeling his headache recede as the fog in his mind lifted slowly. 

“Uh, Cas, so the things the demon was saying…” Dean scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck.

“Dean.” Castiel took another long drink of the water before finally passing it back to Dean. “You bear no responsibility for the demon’s words.”

“Yeah, but Cas,” Dean said, capping the water and tucking it back into his arsenal, “I am glad to see you.” Castiel felt his mouth twitch in something he thought might have been a smile; he stood, stepping closer to Dean. Dean mirrored his action and suddenly they were embracing, bodies pressed tightly together.

“I missed you too,” he murmured into Dean’s ear. 


End file.
